On That Sunny Afternoon
by Etched In Fire
Summary: 2 ALW - Fox pays his respects to his father.


**On That Sunny Afternoon**

A crisp autumn air had taken to Corneria City, turning the trees aflame with vibrant colors. Puddles lined the sidewalks, reflecting the warm hues. His boots splashed into them absent-mindedly, disrupting their serenity. Fox walked with his hands in the pockets of his black leather jacket, his crimson scarf trailing behind him as a second tail. Emerald eyes focused a few feet ahead of his toes, he nestled into the warmth of his clothes. Though the skies were clear, the sun did not protect him from the chill.

He did not need to look at the street signs to know where he was going; his feet knew the path well. Ears back, Fox dared not make eye contact with the mother and son across the street, even as the boy pointed at him with excitement. He tried to find it in himself to smile but he had nothing to sustain the gesture. Just as soon as he felt his lips curl upwards, they fell back into a neutral expression. Fox sighed and kept walking onward.

Somewhere in the backdrop of the Corneria City downtown, there was a siren calling. Its wail echoed off the metallic skyscrapers. Fox lifted his chin momentarily to watch a few Cornerian police vehicles zoom overhead. There was part of him that wanted to investigate, but he suppressed the impulse. Peppy had told him once before that he did not have to solve all of the world's problems. It felt like a lie to keep him out of trouble.

_That could've been me,_ he thought to himself, reflecting hard on his decision to drop out of the academy. There was a part of him that had cherished the stability of that route. The Cornerian Defense Force provided a steady income and vertical progression into a better lifestyle. It was something that meant something, but it was something he could not have settled into. He appreciated how wiser he had become since he had left the academy that day. Some had called him a fool for chasing ghosts but he knew it was the right decision.

Downtown was always bustling with life and he found his escape in a small park with a winding path, blue pond, and a lively fountain. Its entrance was surrounded by a grove of trees, preserved from the Cornerian wilds with helpful, informative plaques at each one's base. Fox had never really cared to learn about flora so he did not bother to read any of the information. He did nod approvingly at each one, however with raised brows and a relatively neutral expression.

His ears swiveled in the direction of some children playing on a seesaw. Their parents sat mildly by with pleasant expressions on their faces. One of the kids, a peppy looking pup with large ears, stood proudly on a nearby bench.

"Let's play Star Fox!" He declared. "I'll be Fox!"

"No fair, no fair, you were Fox last time!" one of his companions complained.

Fox was certain to keep his chin and cheek concealed by his scarf as he walked by, not daring to make eye-contact with his evident admirers. He heard them zooming around with their hands to the sides, making noises that sounded like lasers (or, rather, he believed were supposed to sound like lasers). One of them was declared "Wolf" and was mercilessly chased by the others. Fox had to stifle a chuckle. It was clever, he thought and his smile lingered for a few more moments as he passed by.

Spilling from the grove, the path took him into the soft sunlight. The azure waters of the nearby pond housed some brightly-toned fish, who danced beneath the surface in anticipation. He spied a box nearby with food that guests could purchase to feed them. A quick pat down of his pockets and he realized he had left his wallet on the Great Fox.

"Sorry," he said apologetically to the fish. It stared at him as he passed it by.

He thought to pause his walk at one of the benches nearby, to watch the water and listen to the fountain's spray, but he decided against it. Moving kept him warm and so he continued along the trail with a quiet serenity in his eyes.

Hands tucked into his jacket, he found himself staring up at a metallic arch. A simple sign had been erected on the right with the words "Brinsmith Memorial Hill" written neatly on it. Something made him give pause in the shadow of the archway. His shoulders felt heavy, feet burdened as though someone had tied bricks to them. But he knew there was no sense in stopping now. Fox side-eyed the sign for a moment before stepping through the arch.

If the park was a picture of Corneria's present, then Brinsmith Memorial Hill was a picture of Corneria's past. On the other side of that black metallic arch were stones that lined the hills in very purposeful rows. The stones had been cut the same way, small pillars that went up to Fox's waist with a flat surface that held a name and dates. Each of them had been a living, breathing soul once. But the Lylat Wars had cut their lives short. And now they were all here. Rows and rows. Testaments to courage in the face of evil. Victims of cruelty in a world that made no sense sometimes.

He followed the path until it diverged the second time, taking a right and then a left down an even smaller trail. It strayed from the main cemetery, winding down into a grove separate from the rest of the headstones. Underneath red maple trees and aspens that arched around the simple cobblestone path away from Brinsmith's main lawn, Fox walked with his hands shoved into his pockets. A few crimson leaves blew by, carried forth by a lively autumn breeze. It was not long down the path until the white stone at the end caught his eye—a large white structure with a blue-grey domed roof.

In the shadow of the mausoleum, Fox stopped, feeling dwarfed by its height. The trees around it had been cleared away so Lylat would always fall onto its sleek structure, causing its pale stone to beam with sunlight. Fox wish he could have smiled at it—truly, it was a piece of gorgeous work, commissioned by General Pepper himself and carved into existence by expert hands. A plaque at its front read two names.

_Vixen Reinard-McCloud and James McCloud Senior_

_The First Victims of the Lylat Wars_

His eyes burned when he read their names. His heart sank into his stomach. No matter how many times he told himself every day that they were gone, seeing their memorial always yielded that same feeling—that same, stabbing gut feeling that made him want to sink to his knees. Fox told himself to stay strong. The cold wind blew. Somewhere, he heard a hovercar swerve and the sounds of two separate horns go off. He felt nothing… and yet, somehow, everything. His heart swelled like a kettle about to boil over. Jaws pressed shut, he choked back the starts of a sob. Even in the seclusion of the quiet grove, he feared prying eyes.

In his heart, it did not matter that the mausoleum was empty. Nothing from his father had ever returned from Venom—there had been nothing to lay to rest. His mother was no different, her body reduced to ashes in the matter of mere seconds after the bomb had gone off. The symbolism tore at his heartstrings. He submitted to that desire to rest, falling to his knees in the jade-green grass before the memorial to his parents. The tears fell without warning- slow at first, then faster… faster… His throat burned. The sob came out—he hated himself for being so _weak_ but he let himself crumble in that moment. In that quiet grove, there was no one to hear him—not unless they listened close. He savored that comfort, letting his feelings drown him as the tears splashed into the thick clumps of grass around him, mixing in with the dew.

He wished the years really _did_ dull the pain like everyone said it would. But somehow, when he saw their graves, it felt just as fresh as it had been the day he found out…

Fox adjusted his position, sitting down on his bum with his cream-tipped tail resting in the dew-frosted blades of grass. Fox could not find it in himself to care if his pants were stained by grass or mud. He rested with a shuddering sigh, leaning back and propping himself up with two hands. It took a few moments to solidify his emotions, nailing down his thoughts so they did not run wild. A few deep breaths and his shivering stopped. Softly, his vision blurred, exhaustion from his breakdown spreading from his now throbbing head to his shoulders. It snaked down his spine and he felt the tension ebb away. He rubbed his forehead, trying to will the headache away but it defiantly loitered.

"I thought you'd be out here," came a familiar voice.

_Falco._

Fox tossed a glance over his shoulder at the avian as he approached, clad in a bright red plaid jacket with faux fur rimming its hood. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his jacket, his head tilting to the side. The breeze coursed through his blue plumage, making it dance.

"How'd you know where this place is?" Fox asked. "I didn't think I'd ever brought you here before."

"Lucky guess," Falco shrugged. "And Slippy's a chatterbox." He stopped his approach a few yards from the memorial, standing just on the outskirts of its shadow. The avian glanced up at it, clearly impressed. He raised his brows as his gaze scanned up to the massive dome, then let his eyes fall back onto Fox.

"It's Father's Day," Falco said, his own words a bit weak. The tip of his boot kicked at some grass strands. "Figured you'd… ah… well, y'know."

"I guess it's been a few years now," Fox looked back at the memorial. "But it doesn't make it hurt any less."

"I know," Falco replied, wandering closer to Fox. He plopped down in the grass next to him, so ungracefully so that he almost fell over backwards. "And everyone always says _'Oh, it'll hurt less later on'_ but they never seem to _get it_, am I right?"

"Yeah…" Fox nodded, moving to a more upright sitting position and tucking his knees to his chin. His arms hugged his legs.

"It's okay to have days like today," Falco said to him. "No one's gonna fault ya or anything."

"I know," Fox replied, ears drooping.

He could sense Falco's prying look, even as he stared forward at the plaque, mentally tracing the letters of their names. Fox heard Falco move a split-second before he put his arm around the vulpine's shoulders, bringing him in with a squeeze. With a melancholy smile, Fox let the avian hold him, staring ever upward at the memorial built to his parents.

"Falco… do you remember much about your dad?" Fox asked, glancing at the bird curiously. He had known for years now that Falco's dad had left at some point—years ago, well before they had ever met. What the avian had revealed during his time on the team was sparse, but Fox was certain he knew the gist. The way Falco glared at alcoholics, the way he was so eager to jump in to defend kids from domestic woes, the way he seemed to fear abandonment... Fox had put the puzzle pieces together long ago.

"Enough to know that I guess I never really had one. Not for a long time, at least," Falco said. He squeezed Fox again. This time, it did not seem to be out of the vulpine's benefit. "And yeah, it sucked… for a long time. Heck, even now it still sucks. And I was seven when he left. But I guess in hindsight, he might've been the guy who helped bring me into this world, but he wasn't… really my dad."

"Yeah?" Fox asked.

"I used to not understand why he left. I thought maybe I'd done something…" Falco began, but his words stopped, stifled abruptly. The avian's grip seemed to tighten. "… but it wasn't my fault. Wasn't Mom's either. It was his bad. He wasn't cut out for the job. And, well… if he had kept up what he was doin'… someone was gonna get hurt—and not just cuts and bruises. So maybe… it was better he was gone in the end. But that doesn't make it… better, y'know?"

"Falco…" Fox started. _I shouldn't have asked… he seems upset now._

"Don't be sorry," Falco glanced at the vulpine. Perhaps it was a trick of the sunlight but Fox could have sworn he saw the avian's eyes glisten for a moment. "Today's just a sucky day."

"You're right," Fox replied, glancing sullenly back at the empty mausoleum.

"But… you know what might make it better?" Falco asked. "Ice cream. You know, as much as it's your pa's day and my pop's day… It's Peppy's day too. I saw the store down the street was selling carrot cake ice cream. You know the old Pepster would love it."

"You're right," Fox replied, ears perking. "I know he's in town doing lunch with Lucy today but we should get him something too."

Falco rose from the grass and offered a hand to Fox. The vulpine took it and Falco hoisted him to his feet. Their hands lingered for a moment, clasped together. Fox pulled the avian into a hug, holding him close for a few content moments.

"Thanks," Fox whispered.

"Don't mention it," Falco smiled.

They departed the mausoleum and its silent grove. Though tears still stained the fur of his russet cheeks, Fox found himself smiling at they walked down the leaf-strewn path towards the main Brinsmith cemetery. The sounds of the city seemed to grow louder, more alive as they walked further away from the McCloud memorial. Through the fall chill, the sun seemed to burst with light and warmth. Fox paused for a moment as they were about to leave the peaceful cemetery, digging into the left pocket of his jacket. He pulled out his sunglasses and donned them.

"Lookin' good, champ," Falco said with a playful punch to Fox's shoulder.

"You should get a pair," Fox remarked.

"I was thinkin' about doin' some shoppin' while we're in the city. You think I'd look good with a headband?" Falco asked.

"You?" Fox asked with a chuckle.

"What's that supposed to mean!?" Falco demanded dramatically.

The two laughed into the sunny afternoon- the tears in their eyes and the grief in their hearts fading. Under clear skies, Fox spent the rest of his day with his father's memory silently lingering in the back of his mind. He was comforted as he looked about the bustling streets of Corneria City, reflecting deep on the peace he had helped bring. A peace inspired by his father, who watched over them all from a starry heaven they could never hope to traverse until their time had come.

* * *

**Note:** Pouring one out for all the folks like me who spend Father's Day maybe wishing they could sleep through it instead. For those whose dads are gone or were never really there.


End file.
